


Right Name, Wrong Person

by LadySokolov



Series: Branded Universe One-shots [2]
Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Explicit Language, Fluff and Mush, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver looks for the right Vincent. Vincent looks for the right Oliver. AKA the five times Ollie or Vincent thought that they might have found their soulmate and the one time they actually did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Name, Wrong Person

**Author's Note:**

> For Random Reader, whoever they might be, who prompted me to spend some time finishing this one-shot. I hope everyone likes this one, despite it just being a bunch of fluff and stupidity. <3
> 
> There are absolutely no spoilers for Branded in here, so feel free to read it whenever.

His parents had named him Oliver because it was a refined, dignified name for someone of their social standing.

One day they sat him down and gave him ‘the talk’. He learned a lot of things, but very few of them were about sex or soulmates. He knew all of that stuff already, although most of it still seemed gross or scary or just plain weird.  What he did discover was that his mother quite liked the fact that he had the name ‘Vincent’ on his wrist. It was also a refined and dignified name and hopefully meant that his soulmate had a lot of money too. His father turned up his nose at it though. He spent most of the time Ollie and his mother were talking muttering about how it was such a disappointment that their only son would grow up to be gay and how terrible it was that there would be no-one to carry on the family name. Ollie knew that his soulbrand hadn’t changed since he was a little baby, and he’d never been able to work out why his father kept acting so surprised and annoyed every time it was brought up.

The timing of ‘the talk’ ended up being quite good, because two weeks later he met his first Vincent. It was at one of the many social functions his parents attended, although they always seemed miserable and moaned and complained about going to them before hand, so Ollie couldn’t work out why they went, or why he had to go too. He didn’t even really know what it was; a wedding, or a baby shower or one of those other boring adult things that Oliver wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

This Vincent was half a dozen years older than Oliver, which meant he was almost sort of an adult, and he looked just as uncomfortable in his suit and unhappy to be there as Oliver felt. Oliver spent the next few hours following the older boy around, tugging on his sleeves and asking him all sorts of questions, only a few of which were actually answered.

The older boy finally snapped and yelled at Oliver, telling the ‘stupid kid’ to just go away and leave him alone.

Oliver burst into tears and went running to his mother. When she asked him what was wrong he wiped the tears from his face and looked up to her, glad that she was listening to his problems for once.

“I found Vincent and he hates me,” Oliver told her.

To his horror his mother laughed and tapped at his wrist.

“Are you sure it’s the right one?” she asked. “Remember what I told you. This will turn grey if it’s the right one.”

Oliver looked at her and then back at his wrist, and took a second to glance beneath his band. Vincent’s name was still black. Oliver grabbed her arm and pulled her down so that he could whisper in her ear.

“It’s still black,” he told her.

“Of course it is silly,” she said, ruffling his hair. “There will be more than one person out there with the right name. You’ll just have to keep searching until you find the right Vincent.”

* * *

When he was old enough to ask Vincent found out that he had been given his name because his parents had always loved watching old horror movies when they were younger, and had both agreed that Vincent Price was absolutely awesome. They hadn’t really cared that no-one called their kids Vincent anymore, and so there he was, stuck with a name that he was sure was stupid and old fashioned. Then again, his soulmate’s name was Oliver, and that was pretty old fashioned too, so when he met Oliver he was sure that they’d have that in common and Oliver would understand even if no-one else did.

His parents hadn’t needed to tell him what the mark on his wrist meant. He’d already asked his older brother and sister, and they’d laughed at him a little before explaining.

When Vincent went to junior high he discovered that there was an Oliver in his class. He immediately attached himself to the boy and declared that they were going to be friends whether Oliver liked it or not. Oliver was pretty friendly, and he had smiled and welcomed Vincent’s friendship.

Vincent’s soulbrand didn’t change colour though, no matter how much Vincent hugged Oliver, and he began to grow worried. A few weeks later Oliver came to school and blushed and smiled and told everyone that he had met Alison. He told them all how sweet and pretty she was, and Vincent felt the very strange sensation of having his heart break and having a massive weight be lifted from his shoulders at the same time.

Of course his soulbrand hadn’t changed colour. Of course this wasn’t the right Oliver. Things were never that easy. He’d just have to keep looking.

* * *

Oliver would never forget the second time he met someone named Vincent, because it was terrifying. He was sixteen, his parents were home after being away for almost three months, and they had decided that Oliver should be dragged to a business meeting. He needed to learn how to be responsible, they told him as they drove him there. He needed to learn how to take over from them once they were gone.

What he needed was to get the fuck away from the two of them, go over to the Brodys’ and spend the rest of the weekend getting high and playing video games with Jason and Riley.

His parents introduced him to all the other boring people in boring suits, and Oliver had honestly thought he was going to die from boredom until he had shaken hands with one ‘Mister Vincent Fleming’ and Oliver’s heart had stopped.

Vincent Fleming was in his forties at least, and he was overweight and smelled like canned tuna. He still had a band around his wrist and he smiled as Oliver shook his hand in a way that made Oliver distinctly uncomfortable. Oliver didn’t believe in any god that couldn’t be rolled and smoked, but at that moment he found himself praying to whoever would listen that the man in front of him would not turn out to be his soulmate.

The meeting was even more agonizing than it would have usually been, and Oliver didn’t learn a single thing. He was too busy worrying about the man on the other side of the room and the mark on his wrist.

When they were finally free he disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, locked himself in one of the stalls and tore the band off his wrist.

Vincent’s name was still black.

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, flopped back against the wall of the toilet stall, and spent the next few minutes shaking his head and laughing at himself.

* * *

Vincent met his second Oliver in an ice-cream parlor when he was twenty. He and some friends had just spent the day at the beach, and were about to head home when one of the girls suggested getting ice-cream.

They had crowded inside the small store, and while the others had talked over the different flavors, Vincent’s eyes had settled on the name tag of the guy serving them. This Oliver was about the same age as Vincent and his friends, had pale, heavily freckled skin, bright blue eyes and scruffy brown hair, and as far as Vincent was concerned, was one of the most adorable people Vincent had ever seen.

He smiled at Oliver, and Oliver smiled back, and then everyone was ordering their ice-cream, and Vincent was dragged out of the ice cream parlor before he could say anything to Oliver other than what was completely necessary.

The very next day Vincent found himself back at the ice-cream parlor, only for it to be Oliver’s day off. He came back the next week though, and the week after that, and pretty soon he was sure he was going to put on weight because of all the ice-cream he was eating.

He wanted to introduce himself, but the opportunity never came up. He tried to convince himself that Oliver’s smile grew a little brighter whenever he walked into the store, but he couldn’t be entirely sure of that, and touching Oliver wasn’t exactly easy because of the gloves that he wore and the fact that the stupid ice-cream counter was always in the god-damn way.

Eventually he summoned up the courage to just walk up and ask Oliver out for coffee. It had taken a lot of stammering and blushing, but eventually, as their hands brushed and Oliver passed him the sundae he had ordered, Vincent had blurted out “So my name is Vincent and you might be my soulmate. Please tell me that you are.”

Oliver froze, blinked a few times, and then began to slowly shake his head.

“Look man, Vincent was it?”

Vincent nodded.

“Right,” Oliver said, looking more than a little awkward. “Sorry, but my soulmate’s name is Carley and I’ve got a date with her in like an hour.”

“Oh,” Vincent said, feeling like an idiot. “Okay. Right. Sorry.”

Somehow he managed to keep his composure long enough to pay for the ice-cream, even though neither of them could look at the other’s face.

Vincent walked calmly away from the store and then, as soon as he was out of sight of the ice-cream parlor and safely away from Oliver-who-was-definitely-not-his-soulmate number two, he ran, and he continued to run until he was safe at home in his apartment, where he spent the rest of the night getting drunk.

When his roommate got home in the middle of the night he asked Vincent what the problem was.

“The problem is women,” Vincent replied.

“Women?”

“Yeah,” Vincent moaned. “They keep stealing all the Olivers.”

Vincent’s roommate just shook his head, walked past Vincent and headed for the shower, leaving Vincent to get drunk in peace.

* * *

Oliver was having a really shitty day. Not just a shitty day, but a really shitty day. Well, technically it had started the night before, so a really shitty two days might have been more of an appropriate description. He had met another Vincent, and this one was actually a little closer to his own age, and pretty good looking, and Ollie had been just high enough to think that wrapping his arm around the other man and trying to hug him had been a fantastic idea, even though they had only met an hour before.

Vincent had let Oliver know exactly how wrong he had been, and only after he had been yelled at did Oliver realize that the other man had the name ‘Sophie’ in white on his wrist, out where everyone in the club, including Oliver, should have been able to see it.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. He couldn’t remember half of the shit he had taken, but he had woken up in his parent’s yellow Porsche on the outskirts of San Diego with no idea why he was there, or why there was a massive dint in the car’s hood.

He was bleary, hungover from more than just alcohol, thirsty and starving. A quick check of his pockets and the back seat told him that he was completely out of weed and snacks as well, with nothing to satisfy the cravings of his stomach or his brain.

“Holy shit,” Ollie exclaimed as he practically fell out of the car and saw the enormous scratch that decorated the left side of the car. “My parents are going to fucking kill me.”

An inspection of the rest of the car told him that the engine was still working, and even if did sound like crap it meant he could at least get it to someone that could fix it. His parent’s credit card could do wonders after all, and they probably wouldn’t even notice the extra charge to their account.

A few seconds of fiddling on his phone gave him the directions to the nearest auto repair shop, and with a little bit of love and coaxing he managed to get the car there mostly in one piece.

The mechanic on duty at the shop was about Oliver’s age, with skin just dark enough that Ollie couldn’t work out whether he was Hispanic or just deeply tanned, and darker hair, and when he saw Oliver drive the trashed Porsche into the garage he had the same reaction as Ollie.

“Holy shit,” the young man exclaimed as he rubbed his oil-stained hands on an old cloth.

Ollie rubbed his forehead and stepped out of the car.

“Holy shit!” the young mechanic repeated, but this time he actually sounded pretty happy. “This is a 2007 Porsche Cayman, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Oliver muttered, wondering where the nearest coffee place or marijuana dealer was. Either would have been amazing at that moment.

“You smashed up a Porsche?”

“Yeah…”

“It probably makes me an asshole, but I’m kind of glad you did. I never get to work on cars as nice as this. I’ll go ahead and give you the bad news right now. We’re going to need to hold onto her for quite a while if you want us to fix that hood, regardless of what else is wrong with her.”

“Look man, I don’t care how long it takes, or how expensive it is. You will literally be saving my life if you can fix it before my parents get home next week.”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Oliver checked his pockets, making sure that his keys, phone and wallet were still where they should be, before looking around the neighboring area.

“Hey man,” he asked the mechanic. “You know anywhere I can get some food and a coffee around here? I got a wicked hangover and I have no fucking clue when I last ate.”

“Huh? Yeah sure. There’s a pretty good burger place just down the road. Pretty sure they do sandwiches and stuff too. Just keep walking for a couple of minutes and it’s there on your left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks man.”

“No problem, but before you go I need to get some of your details.”

“Aww come on, I’m just going to get some food and then I’ll be right back.”

“Just a name and number then.”

“Okay.”

Oliver waited as the other man scrambled for the nearest pen and piece of paper.

“The name is Oliver Carswell,” he began.

The mechanic froze with his pen hovering just above the paper. He looked up at Ollie, their eyes meeting, and Oliver found himself getting distracted by the other man’s eyes for a moment. They were really pretty eyes, but it didn’t change the fact that the other guy wasn’t writing, and Oliver had no idea why.

“Do you need me to spell Carswell?” he asked.

“Huh? What… Um. No,” the man said as he quickly scribbled Oliver’s name down. “First name is fine anyway I guess.”

Oliver waited a moment for the mechanic to recover and finish writing, before giving him his phone number as well. The mechanic nodded as he finished writing, before walking over to Oliver and repeating Oliver’s name and number slowly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Oliver told him. “Look man, I promise I’m going to be back in a little while anyway.”

“Right,” the man said, shoving the pen and paper into his pockets. “Right.”

The mechanic was staring at Oliver more than at the Porsche, which seemed weird considering his earlier interest. There was definitely something else going on here. Oliver cocked his head and waited for the mechanic to speak.

“I… er…”

The mechanic was blushing now, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of brown rather than an embarrassing shade of red like Ollie’s cheeks.

“Hi Oliver,” the mechanic said, presenting his hand for Oliver to shake. Despite his earlier attempt to clean it, the mechanic’s hand was still covered in grease and who the hell knew what else.

“I’m Vincent,” the mechanic said.

That was all Oliver needed to hear to grab the other man’s hand, grease and all.

“Uh… hi Vincent,” Oliver murmured. “I’m… I’m Oliver.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. You just asked me that, didn’t you? Oh shit…”

Vincent was grinning like an idiot as he looked at Oliver, and despite how terrible his morning had been, and how much his head was still throbbing, Oliver felt himself smiling as well. He kind of really wanted this mechanic to be the right Vincent, and judging by the way Vincent was still clinging to his hand his chances were looking pretty good.

“Sorry,” Vincent said, finally letting go of Oliver’s hand. “You were going to get something to eat, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. You want anything while I’m going? I was gonna eat there, but I uh… I might bring it back here if it’s that close.”

“Really? That would be cool. I mean… I don’t really need to eat anything, but you can totally eat it here if you want.”

Vincent looked around, and Oliver was pretty damn sure he caught the other guy looking down at his left wrist a couple of times.

“Look I’ll just… I’ll just let you go,” Vincent told him. “I’ll see you in a few moments. I’ve just gotta go um… check something. See you soon.”

“Yeah sure,” Oliver said.

He had a feeling he knew what Vincent wanted to check. He had every intention of slipping into the bathroom at the burger place if they had one and taking a moment to check his own soul brand too. With any luck it would have turned grey now that he and Vincent the mechanic had shaken hands.

* * *

Vincent ducked inside the office and quickly slammed the door shut behind him. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was having a really hard time getting it to slow down. He pressed his back against the door and looked out one of the office’s glass windows at the rest of the garage.

Oliver was still there, and he looked around the garage for a few more seconds, before slowly walking out, heading in the direction that Vincent had indicated.

Could this Oliver really be Vincent’s soulmate? Vincent hoped so. After all, he was really cute, and he had a freaking Porsche! Not that the Porsche was really important. Not when Oliver was already good-looking, and pretty friendly and Vincent had waited so long, and this was the best Oliver yet, and… and…

Vincent couldn’t wait any longer. He reached down, his right hand shaking as he tried to unbuckle the band around his wrist.

* * *

“WOOOOOO!”

Oliver was walking down the street when he heard the loud, happy cry come from inside the mechanic’s office. He smiled, and gently fingered the band around his own wrist.

Maybe it wasn’t such a shitty day after all.


End file.
